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Page 342
opponent he was not willing to unseat when he was too tired to judge his blows nicely. The first and second passes were successful. His lance slid off Sir Thomas' shield, and the blows he fended off did not shake him severely. The third pass was a disaster because his lance was flawed. It shattered as soon as it made contact with the opposing shield. Thus, the impact he endured was not diluted by any counterpressure.
Ian gasped with pain as his left arm was slammed back into his chest, but long training held. He forced the arm up, tilting his shield, allowed himself to lean backward into the cantle of his saddle, and pressed his knee urgently against his destrier's side. The horse turned sharply away from his opponent. With a scraping screech the lance point slipped upward. Painfully, Ian wrenched his head further aside, lifted the shield still higher, and finally thrust it outward as the lance fell away. At the same time he threw down the end of the shattered shaft he held and gripped the pommel of his saddle.
The wonderfully even stride of his mount, and instinct, held Ian in the saddle. Unguided, the horse slowed and turned as it had each previous time. Sobbing breaths brought air back into Ian's laboring lungs. Sufficient strength returned to his right hand so that he could lift his rein and bring his horse back into position, but he was in serious trouble and he knew it. If the challenger for the steading of Westfield demanded another three passes, he would never withstand them. The heralds were calling something. Ian shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing in his ears.
Something was wrong with his timing, Ian thought dazedly. He should have had a few minutes' respite while the challenger arranged for the next three passes. Then he thought resentfully that more was wrong than just his sense of time. He should have been accorded the courtesy of accepting or refusing the renewed challenge. Technically, he had the right to refuse and to

 
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